


Loki's Mom, has got it going on

by XxEJMxX



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Darcy Lewis, Frigga/Darcy if you squint, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23768923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxEJMxX/pseuds/XxEJMxX
Summary: in which Darcy Lewis kinda, sorta definitely hits on the All-Mother.
Relationships: Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster/Thor
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Loki's Mom, has got it going on

**Author's Note:**

> This obviously isn’t cannon compliant. It takes place after Dark World, but Frigga ~definitely~ isn't dead. I’d like to think that Loki managed some stellar healing magic or that Jane had a protective spell from low-key witch Darcy (my fave AU trope <3) so that Frigga didn’t have sacrifice her life. 
> 
> That said, this fic was kinda inspired by my favorite Dante Gabriel Rossetti portrayal of Venus, a painting of Frigg/Freyja by James Doyle Penrose, and most Renoir women (y’know the man loved painting women and did it ~beautifully~). I've included a picture of Penrose's painting--but forreal look up Rossetti's Venus and Renoir and his womenfolk.

* * *

Darcy and Jane are arm in arm, making a slow circuit of the royal gardens and scuffing their fancy embroidered slippers against flagstones and mossy earth. Emphasis on the _slow_ orbit around the open meadow surrounded by hedges. **_Slow_** because Jane and Darcy both aren’t used to wearing floor-length skirts, not layers of floor-length skirts, and especially not layers of floor-length skirts that are embroidered with what Darcy has decided is gold thread and maybe semi-precious stones. Said dresses are wrapped in heavy jewel encrusted belts that make Darcy feel a bit too renaissance-fair-esque—she’s just missing a Maid Marian hair piece. Also **_slow_** because Darcy is also having a little trouble breathing deeply due to the dressing lady having a bit too much fun when lacing Darcy’s soft body into a boned bodice that’s been pushing insistently against her ribs and securing the gals high and tight on her chest.   
  
But back to the meadow Darcy and Jane orbit around like one of Jane’s beloved heavenly bodies—the verdant clearing is surrounded and dotted by what looks to Darcy like white clover and maybe asphodel and perhaps indigo phlox and possibly tiny daisies. But Darcy isn’t quite sure that plants are the same here as they are on Midgard (because everything else that seems even slightly familiar has different names here), and even if the plants were the same plants, she has no plans to exercise her witchy green thumb on the palace grounds. Darcy has no idea if her “suggestive plant nurturing skills” (as Jane calls them) will even work on plants that aren’t Earth plants and she definitely doesn’t want to make a scene about trying plant voodou on her first visit. Scene making isn’t allowed as Jane’s Lady in Waiting (which is hecking bamboozling, she knows she won’t actually be in a queue to the throne if anything happened to Jane or Thor and this is just a formal title given to her as Jane’s maid of honor to be, but it’s still mind boggling), especially when she hasn’t even met Thor’s mom yet (Darcy’s heard she’s a lot nicer than Odin, who’s grumpy and once called Jane a goat, _the audacity of that pirate-imitating Santa Clause_ ).  
  
But back to the meadow that’s currently being roughed up by the two men (far less restrainingly dressed, _jerkbags_ ) circling one another, as they are circled by Darcy and Jane. Thor took his shirt off a few minutes ago and Jane has only been halfheartedly musing aloud about Asgard’s suns and peculiar astronomy since—content to watch said suns refract light off her man’s beaming, sweating muscles. Darcy finds it all very aesthetically pleasing—the gleaming muscles and graceful movements and Loki’s hair being up in a complicated braid and more quality bicep on display than she’s used to seeing (which is saying something because she lives in Avengers tower with a bunch of beautifully bicep’d men). There could be jokes about brothers and genetics and _muscles—_ Darcy knows not Thor and Loki aren’t genetically siblings, but blood of the covenant and water of the womb and strength of bonds and all that.  
  
Jane is peaceful, calm, and smiling a little at flowers in addition to smiling at Thor’s abs. This is perhaps the most mellow Darcy has seen her in months, things have been up and down ever since the Aether and Thor’s first real prolonged return to Earth amidst the averted Ultron crisis. Darcy had never been more grateful that she’s real good at her odd selection of skills as she was that day. It was horrifying—continuously rewriting and redirecting code to keep JARVIS alive, as Tony did the same opposite of her to shut down Ultron before it gained too much traction. Of course, she kinda blamed herself that she didn’t see “the world’s safety net” coming before Tony actually fabricated the code for Ultron—but for all her skill with tarot and poultices and mild charms she’s not actually a fucking psychic. The two positives that came from the debacle was 1) group therapy and trust building circles with the ragtag Avengers crew and 2) individual therapy for, well everyone, but especially for one eccentric, genius, billionaire, not-so-playboy-anymore (because Pepper Potts is the closest thing to Queen of Midgard that exists), philanthropist with raging anxiety, daddy issues, and PTSD. Long time in the making for _feelings_ talks, in her opinion.  
  
Darcy sees movement from the corner of the large garden that drags her from her spiraling stream of consciousness. The movement is coming from a path that seems to stretch to the stables—where both beautiful horses and the kick ass floating boats are kept. There’s a few guards bustling up the path, bumping shoulders with each other and looking a bit travel worn, but happy. They pass Jane and Darcy, where they’re reclined all lady-like on an ornate marble bench—they nod deeply and hold an armored fist over their hearts to Jane in a show of respect.  
  
Darcy has to restrain her giggles, seeing Jane treated so royally is still _royally_ funny. Jane’s the same woman that Darcy has to remind to sleep and force feed, whose holey socks and underwear that she’s had to sneakily throw away and replace, that she’s nursed from several colds, food poisoning bouts, and one really bad flu in Norway (Jane is a snotty, whiny monster when she’s sick honestly). This is the same woman that’s supremely uncomfortable being treated so formally without her Ph.D. or Science! street-cred being mentioned (or maybe she’s just uncomfortable being treated so formally just for _formally_ boinking the Crown Prince of Asgard, be still Jane’s palpitating feminist heart).  
  
Darcy has to squint (maybe it’s time to for the annual eye doctor visit) to see a figure swaying up the path the guards just came from. She sees Thor and Loki stop their grappling and move toward water skeins before heading in their direction. All three figures in the garden are gravitating to where Darcy and Jane are seated in the shade of a flowering weeping-willow (maybe) tree. The gliding figure looks like a woman. She looks like she’s robed in a flowing white and gold gown with a deep cerulean traveling cloak hanging from her shoulders; there’s a shock of vibrant pinkish-white flowers in one arm and a basket brimming with something shiny in the other.  
  
She draws closer and closer and Darcy feels her breath grow even shorter and shorter as she makes out more detail: the tumbling riot of deep auburn hair that’s breaking free from the woman’s fishtail braid; the deep rubies that decorate her dress’ belt and cloak’s clasp; the stunning kaleidoscope of pinks and whites and greens of the flowers in the crook of her right elbow; the glint of complex golden embroidery on her dress' sleeves and bodice; the apples ( _GOLDEN FUCKING APPLES?!_ ) in the basket hanging from her left arm. Loki breaks from Thor’s side and moves toward her as she comes up the path. His face glows with the largest smile Darcy has ever seen on his lips as he gently takes the basket from her, engulfs her in a hug, and carefully kisses both of her cheeks. Darcy inhales sharply, is this Loki’s mysterious “betrothed” he sometimes mentions?  
  
The woman is gorgeous. Her face is symmetric and warmed by a gentle smile, her eyes are a stunning, clever aquamarine, her hair looks threaded with copper in the radiance of the suns, and her lips look almost berry stained even though her face seems devoid of makeup (Darcy can tell because she can see freckles on her lightly golden skin that’s the texture of porcelain). Darcy realizes Jane is trying to discreetly shoot her a “geT thE **FUCK UP** what ARE you DOING Darcy ELIZABETHLewis” look, having moved to stand beside Thor (tucked under his arm, getting kisses to her temple, disgusting) while Darcy was awestruck by the woman and Loki’s prolonged beatific smile.  
  
Darcy stumbles to her feet as Loki and the breathtaking woman stop in front of Thor and Jane. She holds her recently freed arm open and Thor’s laugh rumbles in Darcy’s chest even from a few feet away. Jane’s cracks a smile as Thor carefully crushes the woman to his chest and also kisses both of her cheeks. Darcy’s eyebrows raise a bit, Loki has never been that friendly with Jane—maybe Thor just likes Loki’s betrothed more than Loki likes Jane? But then that’s not _quite_ true, Loki has grown to care about Jane over the past few years; they get into wonderful trouble pranking Thor and Darcy, bitching about the All-Father, commiserating about Thor’s ‘please forgive me’ puppy eyes.  
  
Jane is pressed into the woman’s arms after Thor, and Darcy can feel Jane’s happiness radiating and bubbling. Darcy is now also beaming from all of the positive vibes floating around the already sweetly euphoric garden. The positive feelings are seeping into her skin, making her feel warm and fuzzy. Jane withdraws from the mystery woman’s arms and Darcy can hear them speaking in soft tones but cannot make out the words. Thor turns to Darcy, extends his hand, and waits for her to break out of her drunk-off-happy-feelings stupor to place her hand in his. He draws her closer to the woman and Jane and Loki—forming an odd circle in the middle of the path.  
  
“Lightning Sister Darcy of Lewis, this is the Queen Mother Frigga, the most vigilant hearth keeper of the Nine Realms” Darcy is shocked by his words, and can’t quite stop her eyes from widening and letting her mouth form a slight “o” as she meets the woman’s aquamarine gaze ( _but wow her eyes have starbursts in the center with the same grey blue of Thor’s eyes and a rings of deep teal that you can see in the depths of Loki’s eyes_ ).  
  
“I thought the All-Mother would be more…” Darcy’s brain to mouth filter isn’t working _oh no_ ,  
  
“I would not finish that sentence Lewis” Loki bites out, shooting a sharp glance in her direction. Darcy flounders, a blush rising on her cheeks. She can feel Jane’s facepalm from behind her, probably just now realizing that Darcy is suffering from what Jane calls “useless-bisexual-syndrome” (the very same syndrome that keeps her from being able to successfully train with Natasha and insists she flirts with STRIKE Alpha Commander Brock Rumlow and makes her stutter around Pepper and keeps her constantly plying Steve with baked goods—she has a WEAKNESS for pretty people it’s unfortunate really).  
  
Frigga shoots a sidelong glance a Loki, lightly swatting at his arm and then flashing a reassuring expression in Darcy’s direction before speaking,  
  
“Do not listen to my son dearest Darcy, he is a bit overprotective—I’m sure you were not about to insult me, not really.” Frigga’s smile shifts to be a wry, challenging little thing and Darcy feels the blush on her cheeks spread to her chest and of course Thor chuckles.  
  
“Well, spit it out then. More what?” Loki’s look is still sharp, his grin like the Cheshire Cat’s loaded with the sharpness of Clint’s lightweight titanium arrowheads.  
  
“I, uh…more, ah, matronly,” Darcy squeaks, her face feeling impossibly warm even though she cannot break Frigga’s eye contact and slowly raising brow,  
  
“That is to say ma’am, uh your majesty my bad, that you’re hot,” she’s pretty sure Jane just audibly facepalmed and groaned, “uh, that’s earth slang for unbelievably gorgeous, cause wow you’re ethereal, definitely a goddess and I thought you’d be more mother-y because well Thor and Loki but you look very youthful and stunning and someone please stop me from embarrassing myself more.”

Darcy continues to ramble as Loki’s grin softens a bit from weaponized Cheshire Cat to a house cat that caught the canary. Thor’s chuckles amplify a bit, she can feel Jane’s embarrassment, and suddenly Frigga is laughing. Darcy’s mouth goes slack again at the sound, gorgeous little peals of melodious laughter that sound like those fancy wind chimes or crystal tinkling or how champagne feels on the tongue. Darcy feels distinctly screwed by her reaction to the Queen’s laughter—( _I have a crush on the All-Mother, Loki’s mother, my platonic lifemate’s fiancé’s mom, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuckity fuckin'_ fuck). _  
  
_Frigga’s laughing trails into gentle huffs as she looks Darcy up and down appraisingly, the wry smile still in place but somehow warmer—like she left it out in the sun for too long or like its the gooey center of a lava cake just pulled from the oven or like Darcy’s favorite sweater her mawmaw knitted her when she grew boobs in middle school fresh out of the dryer.  
  
“I assure you I take no offense dear Darcy—I truly appreciate the compliments. I find genuine compliments nowhere to be found in my age.” Loki shoots his mother a stern look, like he’s complimented her many times and she hasn’t listened to him but how dare she accept such a backhanded compliment from a _mortal_ (Darcy can almost recreate his inner monologue at this point).  
  
“I’ve heard much about you. I commend you on your honing of Midgardian magic and accomplishment as a female warrior to fell my Thor, that does not happen often. Come, let us go to the palace so I can arrange these flowers and help you and Jane dress for this evening.”  
  
Frigga moves away from Loki, past Thor and Jane, to gently grasp Darcy’s arm where she’s been worrying a phlox blossom. Frigga plucks the blossom from her fingers, adds it to the multitude of tiny white wildflower Darcy hadn’t noticed in her riotous braid, and smiles even more warmly before looping her arm through Darcy’s to tug her in the direction of the palace. Darcy feels molten hot all the way down to her chest, butterflies are beating wildly in her tummy, and her heart is thumping like a rabbit. She takes a quick look over her shoulder to see Jane’s shocked face, Thor’s knowing smirk, and Loki’s dark glare.  
  
It doesn’t fully hit Darcy until later that evening, during the nightly feast where Darcy is sitting on a comfy ottoman by Frigga. It hits Darcy that she _definitely_ hit on Thor’s mom, the All-Mother, right in front of Thor, Jane, and Loki. Darcy hazards a shy peak up at Frigga, who smiles gently down at her ( _you’re not gonna have any blood left in the rest of your body if you don’t stop blushing doofus_ ) _._ Darcy quickly breaks the moment and glances around the banquet hall; Jane and Thor are twirling around the dance floor looking slightly inebriated (or maybe just really happy), Loki is speaking intimately to Sif ( _oh THAT’s weird_ ), and the Warriors Three are interspersed amongst the raucous consumption and frivolity.  
  
Darcy feels Frigga’s hand slip into her curls and scratch her scalp softly as she hazards a glance at Odin in his gigantic throne next to Frigga’s more elegant, delicate seat. He is looking at the both of them (but mostly Frigga really, _thank GOD don’t look at me too closely while I’m looking like your wife’s lap courtesan_ ) with a soft expression on his face that Darcy thinks doesn’t quite belong there, or maybe it just doesn’t come get used very often. How absolutely odd Asgardian royalty is.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I kind of love writing Darcy Lewis (almost as much as I love reading Darcy Lewis) and I might write more in this universe. Particularly a follow up to this--one wholesome and one not so wholesome.


End file.
